


a shrill inner sound

by peculiar_mademoiselle



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Fluff and Angst, M/M, McLennon Big Bang 2020, Merpeople
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:42:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27308647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peculiar_mademoiselle/pseuds/peculiar_mademoiselle
Summary: John Lennon was doing a miserable summer's work at a tacky seaside town, each day as dull and unremarkable as the last.Then he fell off the pier.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33





	a shrill inner sound

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for the Mclennon BB - it was supposed to be a much longer story but real life got in the way. So this is now the first of a series! I do have everything plotted out, so I hope you stick with it. 
> 
> This is inspired by the art of lover_of_blueroses - which can be seen here https://mclennonbb.tumblr.com/post/622632267349671936/bb20-art-submissions x

Blackpool is a town of contradictions, somehow glitzy and grimy in equal measure. Still, lights shine from the tower, and the illuminations paint the promenade in all the colours of the rainbow. Yet, dilapidation has seeped into the very fabric of the place, creating growing dark spots, like distortion on old film. Nowadays you’re as likely to see a boarded up window as a flashing one, as likely to hear the smashing of glass and drunken yelling as you are to hear a child squeal with delight. The sea is always roiling; silver grey on a clear day, murky brown when it’s cloudy. Three rickety piers stretch into it like hands reaching toward the horizon, black seaweed swirling around their supports like dark hair, which hangs limp and tangled when the tide is out.

The Central Pier glows especially bright, as the multicoloured ferris wheel creaks round all day, surrounded by a smattering of other rides. Stalls are crowded close together; games, food and cheap tat. The combined smell of fish and chips and doughnuts and candyfloss is appealing at some times, and nauseating at others. 

It’s a shame then, that John spent quite so much time on the pier. Summer work isn’t as fun or as easy as it sounds, living alone in a chintzy hotel, flicking through the limited channels on the ancient TV. His hours were odd, some days he merely sat on the pier, drawing caricatures for delighted tourists, trying to find the line between funny and downright offensive. He’d had an icy milkshake thrown in his face before by a rather unimpressed lady, and it wasn’t an experience he wanted to repeat. However, a few nights a week he performed in the crumbling theatre at the furthest point out to sea. He was a second-rate Elvis some nights, Bowie on others, and occasionally whatever people drunkenly requested. He’d once even been a one man Vengaboys, which was up there with the milkshake-dousing on the ‘never again’ list. 

He should have been having a good time, that’s what Blackpool was supposed to be, a laugh, and yet every morning he woke feeling heavier. A picture of a gently smiling Cynthia clutching baby Jules sat on his nightstand in a chipped silver frame, the first thing he saw with blurry eyes each day. He did miss them, Cyn, his wife of three years, and Julian, his little baby, who would not be a baby for much longer. 

They’d met at Art College, he and Cynthia, bonding over having to squint at the PowerPoint rather than suffer wearing their thick specs. She was soothing, and kind. When she’d found out she was pregnant, she’d given him the whole spiel about not expecting anything of him, and for a single solitary moment he’d been tempted to take the out she was giving him. That is, until red hair and a windy smile flashed into his mind, accompanied by the memory of a man staring down at him over his long roman nose, and that same man’s retreating back. 

He’d proposed the next week, with (a still slightly apoplectic) Mimi’s antique ring.

Guilt had consumed him every day since, eating away at him like acid. He found it difficult to square in his head, just how much he loved both his wife and Julian, and just how much he ached for something more. Mimi had told him once, that sometimes loving someone enough to marry them, _was enough_. And it was something he repeated to himself often in the dead of night, as though that might make it true.

Being away from them was a strange kind of torture. He made more money for them here than he ever could making coffees or pulling pints in Liverpool, and did feel something like pride every time he wired his pay into their joint bank account. But surrounded by families on their holiday, he was acutely aware of his own loneliness, of how few activities in the town were set up for those who were alone. Even riding a rollercoaster, you either ended up sliding across two seats, or jammed in with the only other weirdo who decided to go to a theme park alone. Neither were particularly fun. 

And yet, sometimes he felt almost relieved by the distance. He didn’t have to look into Cynthia’s eyes everyday, while thinking _I don’t love you the way I want to, I don’t love you the way I should_. That relief was always short lived, popping in his chest like a soap bubble, dropping him back in corrosive guilt, as he berated himself for ever feeling that way at all. 

He went through each and every gig like an automaton, putting on a good show, drinking just enough to be buzzed and playful, but with each song, each cheering tipsy holidaymaker, blurring into one and then nothingness. He could never really recall each performance the next day, only that he’d done it. There was no enjoyment there, no pleasure. He was caught between two worlds, loneliness in this fading seaside town, and the domestic loneliness of home. He yearned for neither.

Four weeks into the summer season and well into July he did a gig like any other. The Wednesday night crowd was small, but lairy. A whole hen party in, donning matching pink cowgirl hats, the words ‘kiss me quick’ daubed on them in shedding silver glitter. He’d charmed them all, kissing each one on the cheek, posing for their pictures, and wowing the bride to be with a flirty rendition of Burning Love. But he’d slipped away as soon as he was able, sitting alone after his shift, drinking. He couldn’t even scroll aimlessly through his phone, as it lay forgotten in his hotel nightstand. Perhaps it was for the best, he couldn’t bear to read any of Cynthia’s emotional Whatsapps tonight, nor the shame that came when he sent his own one line and emoji filled response. 

He ended up being the last one to leave, pretty much. By the time he stumbled out of the venue the town was quieting down in the distance, the pier empty and cast midnight blue under the dark sky and bright moon. The rush of the water was soft and rhythmic, the tide all the way in, lapping half way up the stone steps of the sea wall. 

John had always loved the sea. As a little boy he’d begged Aunt Mimi to take him to the seaside, and though he liked all the trappings of the place, he’d just been content to just run along the shore, watching the waves. It was the child within the man that stirred now, and he found himself leaning against the railing at the toppermost edge of the pier, gazing down at the water below. 

The North Sea was black as onyx, a rolling shadow into which the legs of the pier vanished. John was mesmerised, as he stared down at the hints of gray where the little waves broke against the wet wood. A cool breeze whispered down his neck, and he shuddered, drawing his coat a little tighter. 

He was about to leave, to return to the warmth of the hotel, when something caught his eye. Something..pale, glimmered beneath the surface, visible for just a few seconds at a time before fading. At first he figured it must just be something floating, just flotsam and jetsam being pulled with the tide. But it was moving too fast for that, and against the swaying of the current. Intrigued, John stepped up onto the railing, only a few inches from the ground, for a better vantage point. 

The mysterious thing appeared and reappeared multiple times in the roiling water, but never long enough to ascertain what it was. John squinted, but couldn’t make out any defined shape, especially without his glasses. 

Suddenly it appeared, closer than it had ever before, and clearer too, shining almost silver. Two things then happened at the same time, John, in his eagerness, leaned forward a little over the railing to get a better look, meanwhile, his right shoe decided it was no longer friends with the metal bar he was standing on, and slipped right off. The momentum made him fall forward heavily, and lose his grip on the upper rail.

He didn’t even have time to swear before he was falling, arms pinwheeling, off the edge of the pier and into the darkness below. Hitting the water was like landing on concrete, all the oomph was knocked out of him, and he managed to suck in one tiny whistling breath of chilly air before he was consumed. What had looked like gentle currents from above felt like anything but now he was below, and his body was already stiffening with the biting cold. He was being buffeted, and could no longer tell which way was up, and which was down. Even in this horrible panic-stricken moment, he was reminded perversely of when he’d accidentally put Julian’s stuffed rabbit in the washing machine; he and a sobbing Jules had watched poor old Bunny endure forty minutes of spin cycles through the glass. At least his son had gotten (a slightly soggy) Bunny back - the same probably wasn’t going to happen here. 

That sombre prediction sent a frisson of icy panic to his heart, and spurred him to keep kicking, keep reaching out, for something, anything. But there was nothing but black, and his limbs were seizing up. Oh God, he thought desperately, _they’ll think I did myself in_. 

The buzzing in his brain intensified, and forced his mouth open. Swallowing felt like being burned from the inside out, and he was sure he was soundlessly screaming. Suddenly, something cold slammed against his chest, and every sensation seemed to intensify, his thoughts tangling together like thread. It was only then that he finally blacked out. 

~

He was awoken by the sound of his own coughing, harsh and rattling, like his body was trying to expel a lung along with the mouthfuls of water he was ejecting. He pitched forward, spitting up and breathing in with equal ferocity. His hair, soaked and dripping, stuck to the sides of his cold face as he shivered. Yet, each pain was savoured, because he was _alive_. It only took him a few seconds to work out that he’d been pushed up onto the steps, way back against the promenade, a good 500 yards from where he’d fallen. 

Only after rubbing away the salt water was he given some indication as to how that happened. 

There was someone else there. Their face alone was visible, just peeking above the last step before they were swallowed by the sea. The visage was unearthly pale, almost blue, dominated by wide dark eyes. The skin was slick and wet, gleaming under the moonlight. They were watching John, head-cocked, curious, though they started when he locked eyes with them, the water around them splashing. 

“...What?” John croaked out hoarsely, blinking in shock. The sound was enough to snap the other person to attention, they jerked, and quickly pushed themselves off the steps without a word. The last thing John saw was long fingered hands pressing on the worn stone. 

A few seconds later, John was at the water’s edge, but it was nothing but dark again, and he was alone. 

He traipsed back to the hotel in a daze, his shivers evolving into violent shakes as the breeze chilled the water on his skin. At this time of night the hotel staff were genetically closer to moths than human beings, and the lone night receptionist only raised her eyebrows at him as he dripped his way into the lift. 

As soon as he reached his room he stripped out of his sodden clothes and ran a warm bath. The one pro of his granny hotel room was the huge bathtub in the corner of the bathroom, with one right angle and one curved side which filled almost a third of the room. It was so spacious that he could lie down in it and be fully submerged. Even tepid water felt scalding on his frozen skin right now, but still he collapsed into the bath and let it warm him through. 

Only after the shock had worn off did he start to think about what had happened. Firstly, he’d almost died. He should by all accounts be fish food right now, and a minor local news item tomorrow. His family - Julian, Cyn, Mimi, he would never have seen them again. That thought made his heart sink, and he had to shake himself off the path those dark thoughts were leading him down. Secondly, he’d been saved by...someone. There was no way he’d managed to float all that way, against the tide, and he had seen them, clear as day. Long wet lashes blinking over those large eyes, all that ghostly pale skin. Whoever they were, he owed them his life. 

He staggered into bed, still warm and damp, and fell into a fitful sleep of waves and moonlight. 

As soon as he woke up he called Cynthia, desperate to hear her voice. She couldn’t quite hide her shock at the fact that he’d initiated the call, and that made his heart sink. 

“I miss you,” she sighed, gently, so gently, her voice sad but without recrimination. It only made the sinking feeling worse. 

“I’ll be back soon,” he replied weakly, staring up at the gaudily patterned ceiling, knowing deep down that eight weeks couldn’t really be termed soon. “Can I speak to Jules?” he asked, a neediness making its way into his tone that he couldn’t quite hide. Cynthia hummed the affirmative.

“Hello Daddy,” Julian said, his shy little voice always so quiet. 

“Hey buddy,” John replied, wishing he could bottle the warmth flowing through his chest at that moment, as something that had tensed in him last night finally relaxed. 

After a fifteen minute and very serious discussion about Julian’s soft toys, their cat, and a nice flower in their garden, the phone was passed back to Cynthia for her goodbyes. 

“Well, be safe John, I love you,” she said, so sweetly that he had to physically swallow against the rising red-hot guilt. 

“You too,” he choked out, before hanging up. 

It took him a good half hour to shake off the uneasy feeling the call left him with, before he could fall back asleep. He woke in the evening, and did an evening’s shift almost robotically. The sound and sight of the sea made him shudder when he looked upon it, the panic he’d felt having set into his bones, immovable. Walking along the pier in the dark, he kept to the centre, not wanting to experience the sick, sweeping call of the void that came with glancing over the edge. 

He was just about to leave for the night, when his legs paused seemingly of their own accord. He wasn’t just panicked about the previous night, he was confused. He hated being in the dark. Even Mimi keeping the contents of Christmas presents a secret as a child had been difficult to bear. But this? When he was still so horribly shaken, accepting that he’d never know what had happened just wasn’t an option. It couldn’t be. 

So, instead of walking home, he swung to the left back onto the big stone steps, walking along them until he was just beside the underneath of the pier, a little dark shadowed spot, water lapping just a few steps below. 

“Hello?” he called, kicking himself as he did so. What the hell did he think was going to happen? The only response was sloshing water, slapping against stone and wood. 

“You’re going mad, Lennon…” he muttered to himself, closing his eyes and jamming his hands in his pockets, when there was a quiet splash of water against his feet. He tried not to gasp too loudly when he looked down into a pair of big dark eyes. 

The owner of said eyes was almost totally submerged in the freezing water, only the top of their face visible, and two hands, which were pressed flat against the lowest step. 

“Uh, hello?” he repeated in a whisper, half-wanting to rub his eyes against the apparition. 

But the other person bobbed up a little, their mouth lifting above the surface, “Hello.”

Their voice was...shockingly normal. Masculine and smooth, with a slight north-western twang even. John laughed harshly, in shock, before stepping down to take a closer look at the stranger. 

“What the fuck?” John whispered, mostly to himself, as he inspected the...man. Their skin walked the line between bright white and pearly blue, shining even in the fading light. Their hair was dark, stuck to their forehead with damp, stopping just short of their eyes, which were staring, pupils dilated. Glancing down at their hands, John almost recoiled when he noticed that they were long nailed as well as long fingered, each nail dark and pointed, clicking lightly against the stone when they moved. There was also a faint mesh...a webbing, almost, between each of those fingers, and the sight of them sent his heart pounding, a mad idea coalescing in his head. 

Suddenly desperate for confirmation, he craned his neck, and almost fell over when he caught a glimpse of the glittering silver _tail_ flicking about just beneath that icy water.

“Is this a dream?” John’s voice was barely a whisper, empty to even his own ears. The person in the water smirked at that, flicking their hair a little, drops of chilly water splashing John. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Now John wasn't really a fainter, he thought himself tougher than that. But then again, he'd thought a lot of things, namely about the existence of certain supernatural creatures, that clearly weren't true. So he couldn't really be surprised when his eyes rolled, and he passed out for the second time in two days.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Do let me know. <3 
> 
> The title is from Alfred Tennyson's 'The Mermaid'. 
> 
> Thank you again to D for organising this BB, you rock. x


End file.
